


Morning Light

by lsularak



Series: Deadly Devils [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Matt and The Devil, Metaphors, References to The Punisher, a lot of metaphors, all of these have a lot of metaphors, and i cant do ratings, feel free to tell me what tags to add or if i need to lower the rating askdshgl, i cant tag, if thats important, less religious than the last one??, matt murdock and not caring, me and being verbose, verbosity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lsularak/pseuds/lsularak
Summary: The Devil did not wake up.Matt in the aftermath, still not disturbed.





	Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> wow ok so i actually am trying to keep this series as a real series with events that require knowledge of the last one to really know what i mean but alSo everything can probably be read individually because these are gonna be relatively short until i get to the point where i can write a lot more a lot quicker so!!  
> anyway!! i hope you enjoy it!! any constructive criticism is welcome!!

The Devil did not wake up. 

No, the Devil couldn’t wake up. He had no right to embrace the warmth of daylight when he had committed such atrocities against God during the night. Like God would not see it. Even so, the horns from the previous night remained out, weighing like stone on his host’s head. The Devil was locked away for the day, out of sight and therefore out of mind; but Matt was awake. Matthew Murdock was alive and well, thriving in the absence of the evil that gnawed at his soul with all of the tenacity of a starving dog with flesh every night.

Matt got up. He dressed himself in the clothes that allowed him to feign humanity, to pretend there was even a shred of normalcy to his life. There wasn’t, but that was a secret between himself and the Devil. He slipped his tinted glasses on, straightening out his tie before braving the world. Well, actually, he wasn’t braving it. The world held no power over Matt, no power over the Devil, so he was going out to crush the world under his heel; but he had to keep up the gentle persona he wore. So, the only appropriate phrase was ‘to brave the world’.

He took his time on his path to the office. It wasn’t like he stopped on the way, but he went at a sedate pace. He could afford it. The distraction of the reporters talking about how Daredevil had finally slipped off the tracks had nothing to do with his pace, nothing at all. Sure, maybe Matt focused a little too hard and heard the reports from several buildings out of his way, but that was a complete accident. Completely irrelevant. The fact that reporters were speculating about his moral code meant nothing, and his knuckles creaking as they tightened on his cane was pure coincidence.

When he got to the office building it was like a breath of fresh air, despite the fact that the air was, in reality, packed with anything besides fresh air. The smell of sweat, a perfume and cologne he knew better than his own heartbeat; and at least seven others that were faint enough only Matt would notice. The smell of papers, ink, plastic, wood, coffee, tea, and a plethora of other scents and tastes no one would pick up on. Foggy and Karen. Karen and Foggy. Two constants to Matt’s life, two constants he would crumble without. Two constants that were vehemently arguing over Daredevil and his actions as of the previous night.

Foggy, of course, was arguing against them. Passionately. The stench of his sweat comprised of anger and fear, hatred, even. Maybe because he knew the man the Devil wore as a skin suit. Knew that his actions had damned him. Knew that for all of his work at softening the jagged edges of the patchwork Devil, nothing could smooth him out for good. Like he thought he ever stood a chance of doing so.

Karen, however, argued for them. Argued for them with so much ferocity that even the Devil found himself shocked by it. Though, this was the same woman who believed in what the Punisher did, and even in the man himself. He should not be shocked that this woman argued for his actions, for him, and should be even less surprised by her defense consisting of _“what did you expect, it was only a matter of time before he went too far.”_ She was not wrong. It had only been a matter of time, and even the Punisher could see it. He must’ve seen the horns, that was the only explanation. He saw through the padding and the mask and the skinsuit the Devil wore, rippled through Matt’s skin like a blade until he reached his heart, and poked and prodded at the Devil nestled by it.

They said nothing of it as Matt bypassed them to go to his office, tucking himself away and drowning in work. Better to drown in what he knows than to drown in what he doesn’t. Not like he had a choice, though, since Foggy was closing his argument to leave it for a later time and was dismissing himself to see Matt. Oh. He wanted to see Matt. _Matt_. Not the Devil. His host had to pay more attention if he wanted to keep himself inconspicuous. Matt tilted his head in a way that showed he was listening, a small and innocent smile slipping onto his face. Innocent, because he was not yet proven guilty. Innocent, because no one knew except himself and the Devil, who would never tell a soul. That was the benefit of a pact with the Devil, he would never tell.

Foggy knew, though. He always could see through most of Matt’s lies. Not the Devil’s, he hadn’t seen through that one, but he could read Matt like an open book. He took no hostages as he hissed at Matt, upset _“what the hell”_ s and _“is it true”_ s that screamed they already knew the answers. Matt just kept his small, perfectly innocuous smile plastered on his face. Answered with a simple _“what do you mean”_ that left Foggy reeling. Foggy had expected outpourings of sorrow, wails of grief and self-loathing thick enough to taste, he had not expected the dismissal and blatant avoidance of the Devil’s actions, but Foggy had missed that update. He missed the broadcast to the nations that Matthew Michael Murdock is dead, long live the Devil.

When Matt stopped talking, stopped even pretending to notice Foggy’s presence hovering nearby, Foggy left. Left with a stutter in his heartbeat, and fear in his sweat. He was scared, terrified, even, and he wouldn’t say a word to anyone about it. Whether it was from the fear he felt of his friend, or if it was from the years of knowing him, Matt did not care. Not anymore. Sure, he hoped it was from the years of friendship and inside jokes and pivotal moments shared in their lives, but the results were the same either way, and that was all the Devil cared about. With the Devil locked up for the day – the lock made of glass just to be broken, only for the illusion of safety – Matt, the dead one, the one who had never really existed, began working. Working on the cases that he didn’t believe – couldn’t even start to believe, not anymore – were helpful. The system was flawed, and clearly the Devil’s way was the only one still working. The Devil’s and the Punisher’s, at least. 

Maybe the Devil should make a deal with the Punisher. That would be worthy of headlines; Daredevil and the Punisher, the deadliest team up the Kitchen has seen. Karen would probably appreciate that. Her two favorite vigilantes working together to kill crime off. That would be quite the story. Daredevil and Punisher, ripping the Kitchen’s seedy underbelly open with claws made for killing. The Devil would have to find him tonight, if he was out. Yes, that was a good agenda for the night. The Devil’s manhunt would be quickly renewed now that he had truly started a body count, it wasn’t like he could do much without someone getting a little too close.

This in mind, Matt kept working. Just until nightfall. Just until the Devil could come out to play again.


End file.
